By the Tuesday after the Third Sunday of Lent, most of us are beginning to suspect that Lent is not merely a seasonal mood — it is a renovation project.
And not the charming sort of renovation involving throw pillows and a fresh coat of paint. No. The Third Sunday often gives us one of those bracing Gospel moments — temple-clearing, table-turning, heart-examining passages where Jesus does not so much adjust as overturn.
Which is disconcerting.
We are quite content to invite Jesus into our lives, provided he agrees to admire the décor. We are less enthusiastic when he begins rearranging the furniture.
The image of Jesus cleansing the temple is not primarily about anger; it is about purpose. The temple had drifted. Commerce had crowded out prayer. Efficiency had overshadowed reverence. What was meant to be a house of prayer had become something busier — and perhaps more profitable.
And so, with a dramatic flair that would make any Anglican nervous, Jesus clears space.
Lent, by the third week, begins to do something similar in us.
We discover that prayer has become perfunctory. That kindness has grown conditional. That busyness has taken up residence where trust once lived. The tables may not be physically overturned, but something shifts.
Now, before we all imagine ourselves as spiritual temples in full-scale demolition, let us be clear: Jesus overturns tables not to destroy the temple, but to restore it.
Reordering is not rejection.
In fact, one of the great mercies of Lent is that God does not abandon what has grown cluttered. God reclaims it.
There is something profoundly hopeful in this. The presence of disruption means the presence of care. Indifference would be quieter.
If you are feeling slightly unsettled this Lent — if old assumptions are wobbling, if habits are being questioned, if prayer feels less decorative and more demanding — take heart.
The Lord who rearranges also restores.
And while we may protest mildly at the relocation of certain cherished habits, we may also find that the cleared space allows for something better: deeper prayer, cleaner motives, quieter trust.
The temple was always meant for God’s presence. Our hearts are no different.
And sometimes, in order to make room for prayer, a few tables must be moved.
Preferably with warning. Though, as Scripture suggests, this is not always how it happens.
Companion Prayer
Holy Lord,
You desire a house of prayer
within us.
Where clutter crowds out trust,
clear space.
Where habit replaces reverence,
restore purpose.
Reorder what has drifted.
Renew what has grown dull.
And make our hearts
fit places for your presence.
With patience and mercy,
rearrange us for love.
Amen.